


The Ghost and the Drunk

by cmorgana



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Aramis Whump, Athos Whump, Drunkness, Fairy tale with a happy ending, Fluff, M/M, Not Serious, Some Humor, vague mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 21:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmorgana/pseuds/cmorgana
Summary: Aramis isn't a ghost, he'll correct Athos every single time when called that. He's just an idiot who got cursed to be ethereal, unseen forever, trapped in a house in the middle of nowhere.And Athos is a drunk, or maybe just a man whose wife ran away with his brother, now hiding in a house he has hoped was empty to forget about his pain.





	The Ghost and the Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> Last week I wrote some sort of fairy tale prompt in a chat, just because I was bored. But then two very evil persons - you know who you are - asked me for more details, so I ended up writing that. Which doesn't really make sense. It's like nothing I've ever written and I'm not even sure how to define it, but whatever. It was fun to write, so I hope it's fun to read. Don't take it as a serious story!

Aramis only remembered the arm around his throat out of the blue, the screams of his lover and then, before he could even think about grabbing his sword, the punches and kicks. He remembered a terrible, foul smell, some sort of smoke filling his lungs before he passed out again.

Then he remembered waking up alone and very, very ethereal.

∆

The house was in the middle of nothing, in what once has been a village and was now nothing more than ruins. The road to get there was more dirt than a real path, and there was a huge cellar only waiting to be filled.

Athos didn't understand why no one was living there and hadn't for years, it seemed just like the perfect place.

The only thing he didn't like were the rumors that, for centuries by then, the house has been haunted by some Casanova ghost. Not that he was scared, he didn't believe in ghosts, but if it was true it was one soul too much close to him. He hasn't paid for a house with a roommate.

But after the firsts few days spent trying to make something at least livable out of the old mansion and having met no ghosts, only rats, by now Athos was pretty sure no one, from this world or another, was going to bother him, not with even phones not working up there.

It has taken him a few trips to the nearest city to fill the wine cellar to his taste, after all, he had a lot of money he didn't want, and that night he was finally sitting on a chair, with a candle in liege of the power unit, and the intention of trying every single bottle or at least try before he passes out face first onto the table.

∆

Aramis couldn't believe the sheer amount of bad luck that he was having. Probably that all was part of his curse. It was the only possible reason.

He has had families with yelling kids and dogs constantly barking at him. He had had soldiers taking over and occupying the place. Old people and all genre of rich assholes. But that man, he didn't even know the name yet, since he was there alone, he was sure was the worst of all.

The man has brought nothing into the house.

Not a telephone, something that by now Aramis knew everyone used, not a TV or a radio, Aramis loved those, he loved music especially the new one, with that quick and loud rhythm. He just sat there, he has had for a week, and drank, then proceeding to fall asleep somewhere, getting up groggy, eating the first thing he found on his path - and by then Aramis was amazed there still was food in the house - to then go back to the chair and start the cycle once more.

Aramis was sure he was going to die soon enough, he thought of how he’ll then have to watch the corpse slowly rot in the vane wait that someone will come search for the poor bastard. All that without even a radio.

At least, by now he was sure ghosts didn't exist, he could imagine nothing worse than to spend eternity with that pathetic man.

Plus his death was going to mean he'd stop to stare at him with empty eyes. Aramis found beyond irritating that whatever he did the man always ended up staring in his direction.

Once he had also thought about casually push him down the stairs, but seeing him it would have been too big an act to compassion.

∆

“Life like that is easy, isn't it?” He swallowed another long sip of wine. A forty pounds bottle that after all he drank tasted like ash and stomach acid. Not that he cared.

“You just stay here, doing nothing, forgetful of whoever is outside…” he kept slurring, slamming the bottle on the table to underline his point and looking at that in a stupor when it didn't break slashing his palm and wrists.

“Looks like I won't die today,” he started anew, having already forgot about the old train of thoughts, “I wonder if someone will ever notice or if rats will finish to eat me and leave no traces of my presence on this Earth,” he said to the fuzzy man standing in front of him.

Athos couldn't really make out his features, he looked like dirty smoke and he had a tendency to become two or three every time Athos moved his head, but after all, he couldn't expect much more from a hallucination.

A hallucination that sighed and rolled his eyes before starting to read the label of one of the empty bottles.

Great, Athos thought, even his own hallucination was bored with him. He couldn't even keep an imaginary friend from hating him. Probably his wife has been right fucking and running away with his brother.

“Yeah, I bet another one happy if I'll drown in my own vomit!” He lifted the bottle in a cheer before starting to drink again. His friend not even considering him.

The next day he'll need to stay sober long enough to go buy more bottles.

∆

Aramis was ready to jump from a window. Well except that he couldn't leave the house - and he has tried. For at least one century - and that not having a body the thing would have been pretty useless anyway.

Having that man in the house was really starting to be a curse into the curse. He was vile even while talking to himself, and when he wasn't drunk it was almost worse, just moping around feeding on his own rage.

The only moment of hope for Aramis has been the day the man, now Aramis knew his name was Athos, has come back from one of his trips not only with liters of wine but with also a laptop. He has seriously expected for him to start a movie, he has prayed for him to watch some porn - gosh what Aramis would have given for some good porn after the elderly couple living in the house a few decades before, something he had taken years to forget.

But no! The man has just replied a few messages from friends who have seemed really worried about him, and then he has opened a bottle.

From that day on the only thing to change has been that now Athos drank in the living room instead than the kitchen, in front of a screen instead than looking at him.

“The more I think about how I let everyone down, the more I think I'll never get to the bottom of enough bottles,” Athos started to talk out of the blue, on the screen some photos of him with a dark guy and a man slightly older than them, “I knew how to smile, how to be happy! And then she came along to fuck my family in every mean of the word,” he sighed, drinking some more, eyes fixed on the screen...always staring at that.

Never looking at Aramis again.

Pointedly not looking at him!

For a second Aramis felt like all the air was sucked from his lungs if he had any at all. But he was too confused to think about something so mundane.

Out of instinct, he straightened his jacket, grateful that the damn guy dressed him back before cursing him, then he cleared his voice. Aramis didn't remember the last time he has talked.

“Athos, can you see me?” He asked, forcing himself not to hope. The man turned with the eyes of a deer caught in the light, shook his head, looked at the bottle but didn't take a sip.

“How is my hallucination talking?” He wondered out loud and Aramis had no idea if he could faint, but he knew he was very close to it. He staggered back, to lean against the wall, trying to regain his long forgotten ability to talk.

“I'm...I'm not your hallucination…”

“Oh, then there really is a ghost in the house,” Athos stated, apparently totally alright with the idea.

“I'm...I'm not a ghost either,” Aramis tried to explain, but the man interrupted him.

“Great, not a hallucination, not a ghost, whatever you are, stay away from me, I'm bad news,” and just like that he grabbed that damn bottle, pointedly ignoring whatever else Aramis tried to do or say and drinking until he passed out with his face on the keyboard.

∆

Aramis almost missed the time he was alone and sure that no one, sure not Athos, could see him. It was a lot less frustrating than what their lives - or not-life, he was getting tired of not knowing exactly what he had been turned into - have now turned into.

Both of them have started liking each other company. Aramis was not sure if it was because he has been totally alone for the most part of four centuries, and Athos wondered if it was about being impossible making things hell for someone who was already dead, but the real reasons didn't really matter.

What mattered, instead, was the fact that Athos could only see Aramis when drunk and that thing was driving them both insane.

Not that Athos wasn't a high functioning drunk, but it took massive quantity of wine for him to finally see and hear Aramis, and by that point he usually wasn't the happiest drunk, rambling about all that has gone very wrong in his life, how the best part of it has been serving with Porthos and Treville and some guy who wasn't in the photos, named d'Artagnan.

To be honest, Aramis was up to talk about being under the enemy fire for hours rather than live in his isolation and having been a soldier himself, he even got to learn about new guns, as he learned a lot about the new life outside that house. But in the end, it only got to make him even more desperate to see the new world. And maybe, just maybe, he could have got a tiny crush on Athos and would have really wanted to talk with the real him, not the sad drunk. Obviously, he blamed that on him being the first hot human being around him in 200 years.

It didn't go better for Athos. Every morning he woke up with the vague memory of the night before. At first, he has been sure he was really going crazy once and for all, but then he has started to leave himself notes and things- well, Aramis- have started to take shape in his mind even when he was sober.

Except then he has hated to be sober even more. Now that he was sure Aramis actually existed he talked to him during the day, putting on movies and music he was sure his friend would love, and he generally tried to be nice to the man, but to be alone and act like that wasn’t really helping his frail nerves.

So he started drinking earlier and earlier in the day, more than usual, because apparently part of his own curse was that to be with someone he liked he needed to be really drunk, until he began to be sure his body was starting to shut down, the headache and nausea constant elements in his everyday life, enough that he has started to call Porthos to bring him groceries and such, unable to drive.

Every time Aramis would read a little more worry carved around Porthos' eyes, while Athos face grew of a green and ash sick color a little more every day.

Aramis was sure he had to do something, the problem was he had no idea what.

Athos was sure he was going to die intoxicated, the only thing he was sorry for was he was going to leave Aramis alone for eternity once more.

∆

Aramis was done. Truly, deeply, totally, done.

Athos has spent the last few hours vomiting even his soul just to then reaching for the bottle again. He has asked him to stop. He has ordered and begged, but all he got were short, angry, replies about probably being a schizophrenic with hallucination and about a vision being his only family since he pushed away anyone else.

It was out of character even for Athos, but Aramis knew the man hasn't been sober for a single minute in the last week, beginning that suicide marathon with the intent of spending more time together.

In a perverse and sick way, Aramis was almost sure it was sort of romantic, as romantic as could be in a depraved story as theirs. Or at least he hoped that, given a few of the conversations they had.

That didn't mean he was ready to let Athos go down like that. He wasn't going to sacrifice his life for a fantasy.

Not for a fantasy involving him, who has been unable to love and settle down even when he was actually fully alive. He has been a lover of love, but after having centuries to think about that, he wasn't sure he has ever known what true love was. Probably just a fairy tale. And to kill Athos over a fairy tale was even more stupid.

So, before Athos could shut him out of his bedroom as always, telling him that he wasn't going to sleep with a vision staring at him, he slipped under the bed.

∆

It took a while for Athos to finally, finally reach the bed upstairs. He still understood how shitfaced he was, and he was still able to remember how angry he just got at Aramis for stopping him from drinking more. Was the bastard so ready to not be seen again?

His thoughts came to an abrupt stop when he planted face first on the bed, having barely kicked off his shoes and suddenly only able to drool on his pillow and think how amazing his soft duvet was.

∆

It felt like it was happening in that moment.

The pain at his throat, the middle-aged but still bulky man throwing him against the wooden wardrobe. The woman screamed, running out of the room without even trying to help him. He reached for his sword, so, so, close, but the man stomped on his right wrist, breaking it and his hand.

Aramis remembered the blinding pain, the nausea that overwhelmed him for a second.

But it soon was over and he attacked the man, he tried to hit him. Except he was unarmed and naked, while the man had a pistol and very heavy boots.

The handle of the pistol had left him in the dark once more, and then he was down again, boots kicking him over and over, the sick crack of ribs breaking under the attack, clear in his ears.

Covering his mouth Aramis tried to get out of that memory, triggered by the darkness under the bed and that old floor, but his mind didn't seem of the same opinion and he was suddenly projected back to that moment.

He was dressed once more, the man spitting words about him not going to spend the eternity naked to take young girls from their husbands, and before Aramis could really understand the meaning of the words the man was forcing something down his throat and repeating some old litany while the air filled with a foul-smelling fog.

Aramis whimpered again, sobbed, unable to be more silent than that, wanting to cry and yell and run away but unable to do anything more than shaking.

He flinched hard when a hand appeared in his eyes span, suddenly scouting away before realizing it couldn't be the man, the man was long dead, that was Athos' hand, a safe port.

With tears sliding down his cheeks he reached for it, holding it tight.

"Sometimes is the monster under the bed who needs to be protected," Athos mumbled, tightening the hold and caressing his knuckles with his thumb, "don't worry, I'll leave no one hurt you again."

∆

Athos shrieked, an undignified sound he'd then deny for the rest of his life, jumping on his bed to stand on his knees, hair ruffled around his face, half covering his face.

Slowly Aramis slid out of the bed and was welcomed by an even louder scream.

Out of sheer instinct Athos started to rub his hand against his pants, feeling as if thousands of spiders were crawling on his skin. He also felt like puking, but he was sure it had nothing to do with the wine.

Confused Aramis watched around him, trying to see the damn rat that caused all that turmoil while he was trying to rest his mind in his happy place. He sighed, seeing nothing, not even when a by now hysterical, Athos pointed at it.

"You're not a hallucination, Aramis!" Athos almost yells, and the other man shrugged.

"As if we hadn't covered that a million times already. Stupid drunks and their memory," he muttered to himself, sitting back on the floor. But Athos kept pointing at him.

"No, I mean, I can see you, and I'm not drunk! Well, at least not enough to talk to ghosts first thing in the morning while my head pounds like that," Athos added, calmer. He sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes trained on Aramis.

No one talked for a few minutes.

They could talk, and see each other and they could do that whenever they wanted.

Aramis was finally real again. Or at least sort of.

He reached out, but when Athos grabbed his hand he didn't really hold him, it was like the night before, as if his hand was closing around the air, they both could barely feel something, like pinpricking.

"So I can't really touch you," Aramis said, feeling his heart break a little, but Athos smile distracted him from his pain.

"But we can talk. Really talk, not my drunk blubbering. If you're okay with that, obviously."

"I've been alone for four hundred years, I'd talk to the damn rats. The fact that I want to talk exactly to you is just a great bonus."

Athos didn't ruin his smile by telling him he wasn't in for such good conversation.

∆

Three weeks of finally being vaguely existent once more and Aramis already hated the frustration he got from not being consistent.

To have Athos really talk to him, see him, spend whole days and nights just chatting about nothing or deep things, was more than amazing, especially now that the man was sober all the time and almost enthusiast about showing Aramis all the things he's missed being an ethereal spirit in an empty house.

But things have gone unexpectedly a lot worse when Aramis has realized he was falling in love with Athos. And that Athos reciprocated the sentiment.

That has led them to their current situation. And it wasn't even the first time.

Athos was half lying on the bed, naked and horny from the dirt spilling out of Aramis mouth like warm honey, the other man straddling him, rubbing their hips together. Except only Aramis could feel the delicious pressure of Athos' hard cock, all the man could feel, instead, was the usual tingling, sure great, but not even remotely enough to give him any satisfaction.

With a frustrated groan, Aramis lifted from him, sitting near him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"That you've been cursed? Yes, I guess," Athos replied without even thinking about it.

"Don't. Please. I'd give anything, just anything, to be able to kiss you, to touch you, to feel you inside me."

Athos sighed, sitting up too and nodding.

"Is that really important?" he asked, not sure he wanted an answer. He knew what Aramis was talking about, he felt the same, but he was used to pain, to be tortured by himself, so being tortured by life…well, it wasn't something new.

"It is," apparently Aramis wasn't of the same opinion, "don't you see it? I was cursed because I couldn't keep it in my pants, because I spent my life making people notice me, so for all eternity I could only see but not being seen. Touch but not be touched. So that my art of seduction would fall into nothingness since no one can feel my hands or lips. You're just another part, a piece, of my curse!"

"Do you really think I'm here because I fell for your brown eyes and seductive ways alone?" Athos turned toward him, reaching to grab a hand he couldn't hold, "I swore off any kind of relationship, I come hid in the middle of nothing and I found half a ghost trapped here. Does it seem like falling for you was in my plans?"

"You…fell for me?" Aramis asked with a smirk, distracted from the real topic of the discussion. Athos sighed, exasperated, giving him a glare that conveyed that he wanted to kill him as much as he wanted to kiss him. And that brought Aramis abruptly back to reality.

"Athos, it's not that I didn't enjoy see you come undone just because I was whispering in your ear, guiding your hands on how to touch yourself, but that's not enough!"

"It is for me. That's apparently more real than my marriage. Or my brotherhood by blood," a dark shadow passed over Athos features, but it was gone a second later, replaced again by the worry for Aramis words.

"No. It isn't. You probably don't get it. You're here to punish and torment me even more, to remind me of what I lost forever, of what I can see but not have because I was stupid and egocentric and uncaring. And the more I keep you with me, the more I'll hurt myself by realizing how I'm ruining your life too because I never changed"

"So what?" Athos said, already knowing but needing to hear it.

"So I want you gone. I want you to heal your wounds and find someone real and have a life, away from this cursed house, from a damn ghost who could only destroy anyone he loves. Please, go away." Athos nods a few times. Apparently, his opinion didn't matter.

Apparently he was so bad he could even hurt a ghost who's been alone for more than a few centuries.

∆

They didn't say a word while Athos lifted the last box full of the spare things he owned.

They didn't say goodbye when Athos took a last, deep, breath, fixing the scent of the house forever in his mind, and then stepped away, closing the door one last time.

Athos didn't turn back while he got into the car, next to Porthos.

He didn't need to see Aramis behind the curtain. And if he was crying Aramis didn't need to see that either.

∆

The fading was slow.

The wonders Athos has taught him while there slowly became less and less interesting, useless and vague ideas to someone incorporeal and trapped in a house.

The scent of Athos was the first thing to go, then the echo of his laughter. Someone went to clean the house of empty bottles and whatever junk has been left behind and with those, day after day, the images of Athos filling the house, sitting here or there, slowly disappeared too.

After maybe six months Aramis was ready to swear Athos has probably been some sort of crazy fantasy in his rotten brain, no traces of him left.

And slowly Aramis started to fade too.

Once again no one could see him, hear him. No one would come to that old house about to crumble on itself.

And if he didn't exist for anyone else why should he believe he really existed? He was nothing more than an illusion, a pest, not even the rats could see.

He started to pray the God he has once loved to just make him disappear, to let him die or whatever else way out of his course there was.

∆

It was cold.

Not that Aramis could feel it, but he could see the snow falling for hours, the wind thumping against the wooden walls.

The door creaked, slammed closed. Or open. Probably it was finally falling apart.

Just for a second Aramis wondered what would have happened if the house was to collapse.

Was he going to be tied to the debris and then vaguely at the spot where it has been?

Or was he just to disappear?

He hoped for the second option.

Yet there was something odd in the house now, something he couldn't really tell, but different. Like something in the air has shifted, but nothing to do with the wind.

∆

Athos sat on the floor, the thick layer of dust immediately stuck to his wet clothes.

It was calm, the snow hampered everything, the wind the only noise.

He looked around, tears and snow made his eyes burn and he couldn't really focus in the very dim light, but it was clear he was alone.

He didn't dare call out. He didn't dare to sob like he felt to.

Instead, he started to talk.

He told to the empty room about the new house he has got, near a luxurious wood, at the top of a green hill.

He told about the dog he has rescued from the street, Richelieu.

He told about his ex-wife and his ex-brother who have had a baby together, so he maybe believed they felt something for each other.

He told how he couldn't forgive them anyway.

And then he told about the amazing, gorgeous, woman he has met, about her dark skin and soft hair, about their time together, about feeling alive again.

∆

"Why? Why did you come back to tell me that? Is that a new part of my curse?" Aramis asked, half hiding behind a door. It has been so long he wasn't even sure Athos could still see him. Hell, he wasn't even sure he still existed!

"So you're listening, after all," Athos said with a dry smile, turning toward Aramis, head slightly tilted.

"I don't really have a choice. Why are you here, Athos? After almost two years," his voice was blanc. He wasn't going to show him all the pain he was feeling.

"Richelieu chose to stay with Sylvie," the man said with a sigh, still not moving.

"A pity you can't show me your dog and your new girlfriend. Scared I could seduce her away from you even as a ghost?" Aramis joked bitterly, but Athos smiled at him.

"You could seduce anyone even like that. Your words and your smile would be more than enough."

"Cut it, Athos. I asked you once to go away. You're back, tell me what you want and let me be, I have an eternity, it's not enough time to waste it with your games," Aramis ignored the knot in his throat. Could a ghost vomit? Because he was sure he was about to.

"I couldn't do it. I couldn't play happy and perfect while my mind was stuck here," he flinched at the unintended pun, but Aramis offered him a scoffed laugh, interested in that new topic almost as much as scared of it, "I don't care about the frustration, I don't care if I won't ever be able to kiss you, it'll be an honour just to be by your side. Can I please come back to my house, Aramis?"

"Your presence is worse than the curse," he reminded Athos, forcing the tears out of his voice, "I'm not sure I can take more of what we had. If I can take the idea of you being stuck here because of me," that time Athos got up, a few long strides and he was in front of Aramis, so close that Aramis could feel the man's breath on his imaginary skin.

"That's my choice. But do you want me here? Do you want to be mine, only mine, for as long as I live, maybe more, if I can find a way to be stuck here too, as a ghost."

"There's no such thing as ghosts, you should know," Aramis corrected him with a tiny smile, "eternity is a long time, Athos, don't ask for something you don't want, don't ask for…"

"A curse? Because right now I'd give anything to be cursed, here, with you," there was no kidding in his voice.

"I've been around for four hundred years and that's the most stupid thing I've ever heard. And usually, the stupid and suicidal ideas came from me. So, you're really asking for a "forever" to someone who got cursed for sleeping with half the nation?"

"I'm good at loving idiots. Ask Porthos. And sure I'll know how to manage you. I'll keep everyone out of that door, away from your wicked ways," Athos said with a nod.

"Forever," Aramis said again, tasting the heavy terror of it on his lips.

Really forever, if Athos was going to find a way, and he couldn't put that over him because he was sure Athos could do anything he decided to.

Forever was a very long time.

Forever meant that whoever was going to move there, one day, he wasn't going to be allowed to use his seduction.

It meant that he was never going to fade away again. Not alone.

"I hope you know you just left behind your last chance to be happy just to be stuck with me forever. But probably you don't even know how to be happy," Athos raised the corner of his mouth.

"This means you're taking me back?"

"There still is wine in the cellar. I'll think of how to use it to seduce you. I knew a few interesting tricks once…" Aramis teased.

∆

Pain.

Pain like he's never felt before. As if every nerve was on fire and pounding.

He felt the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, his lungs burn, like he was breathing gasoline.

He can vaguely feel Athos presence near him, talking. No, yelling. But it didn't matter. Aramis had no idea what was happening, but he was pretty sure that was it.

Probably the Devil had finally come to bring him where he deserved. For a second he thought back to all the lives he has ruined. Yes, he was probably breathing the flames from Hell and he deserved that.

But then something else came back to his mind. He has already felt that kind of searing pain.

He concentrated on his surroundings. That smell. That smelling fog, a scent he couldn't forget.

He screamed and cried.

He passed out.

∆

The first thing he saw was Athos face, his eyes full of tears but a smile on his lips.

The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on the couch, head pillowed on Athos' legs. But he was sure he has been in front of the door when that strange thing happened.

He felt like vomiting once more.

"You feel solid?" he tries.

"I've always been solid, I guess," Athos offered, but then he gently caressed Aramis chest and the man jumped on his feet, eyes wide.

"You just touched me!" Athos nodded, "I…am I real?" Athos smile spread while he nodded again, "No one touched me in four hundred years. Do it again," he half asked, half ordered, but Athos was more than happy to indulge him.

The hand on his harm was delicate and warm.

Athos got up, took a step toward him and Aramis found out some things he has never forgotten.

With a smile he closed the space between them, pressing his lips against Athos'.

It's like anything he has ever felt. Sure, to be denied a simple kiss for some centuries has been hard, but that had nothing to do with that abstinence.

Athos' mouth was warm and soft, the little scar seemed to fit perfectly between his lips.

He explored with his tongue, caressing Athos', smiling against him.

"What happened?" he asked, lips still touching.

"I imagine that your accepting to be mine forever broke the curse," Athos wondered, while playing with his hair, unable too to stop touching Aramis now that he was real. Now that he was his.

"I'm free?" Aramis asked again, unbelieving, and Athos nodded again with a smile, "I can go out, I can meet people, talk, explore…"

"You can do anything you want, with me at your side, if you still want me," it was a cautious question, Athos obviously not taking the answer for granted.

Aramis grabbed his shirt and kissed him again. That time it was a hard kiss, teeth, and tongues, beards scratching wet lips, hands grabbing anything they could reach.

"You can go outside and play in the snow," Athos told him breathing fast, foreheads pressed together.

But Aramis smiled wickedly.

"First I'd like to keep true to my promises," Athos looked at him, confused, "remember when I told you I was sure I could drive you insane using only my tongue and two fingers? I'm about to shove you on the floor and show you," but he didn't get to tease more because Athos' mouth was back on his with a punishing passion.

As it was going to be forever.


End file.
